


Swinging

by ancalime8301



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-16
Updated: 2003-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young orphan Frodo takes some time to escape the realities of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swinging

_Whoosh._

Leaves shivered in his passing. The wind drove his grimy curls to tickle his ears and prick his eyes. Arcing back, gradually slowing as he reached the heights, finally pausing just for a moment at the peak. Then gaining speed again as the ground grew ever closer, saved from the clutches of gravity only by rope and a piece of wood. His hair now blown back, his muddy feet pointed toward the leafy canopy as if to walk on the sky.

Again he slowed and stopped, this time to hurtle backwards toward the cool earth. Again he swooped, his speed aided by gravity to drive him to new heights. His eyes now drew level with the branch as he slowed and stopped. In the brief seconds before plunging down to earth, he surveyed the rope ties. Still strong, still secure, no signs of fraying. His father had done a good job in hanging the swing just last summer, tying the ropes securely but not stunting the branch's growth. He had been loathe to scale the tree, the necessary height going against his hobbit sensibility that feet belong on the ground. But his son's pleading eyes and his wife's insistence that she would do it if he didn't finally chased him into the wide-spreading boughs to hang 'that contraption.'

 _Swoosh._

The branches waved reproving fingers as he disturbed them in his quest for the green sun-dappled roof. Still he strained, moving with practiced fluidity to drive himself ever higher. Now the rope lost its tension at the top, making him feel airborne until it snapped straight again as gravity overcame inertia. He was flying, in the only way he could. Flying out of the reach of his small world, away from sorrow and pain and fear and doubt. Only here did his memories not bring the normal wave of grief and despair. Nothing could reach him here, here where he was indisputably in control. Everything else in life could spin dizzyingly beyond his comprehension, but here things could go back to the way they used to be.

He could just barely touch leaves with his outstretched toes when hurtling to the forward peak; when flying backwards the outermost branches of the Hedge prodded his back. He was on the 'wrong' side of that Hedge, his refuge cutting a swath through the abundant plant life at the Old Forest's edge. The Forest did not frighten him so long as it was daylight, childish confidence making him feel invincible, but others' trepidation of the maleovolent trees ensured he went almost entirely undisturbed.

His hands began to burn from the chafing of the rope but still he clung tightly or else he would be thrown off. The jerk grew more pronounced each time, trying to unseat him, but he was too familiar with the way of the swing to submit to its wishes. Distantly he heard the dinner-bell clang, announcing the meal to those who cared; he did not care, not yet ready to stop soaring and return to the ground where life could catch up with him once again.

Finally he was forced to admit he could go no higher and reluctantly slowed himself down a bit. One . . . two . . . he analyzed his momentum, judging the arc just so. Three! For his final act of rebellion against all hobbit sensibilities, he lofted himself into the air, free of the restraint of even the rope for a few priceless seconds. He landed some distance from the empty, trembling swing and absently brushed himself off, small twigs and splinters of wood from the seat falling free of his clothing. Tempted to return to the swing, he stood in silent debate and watched the swing come to rest as well. Then he became aware of his aunts' voices calling his name. He sighed ruefully and made his way toward the gate in the Hedge. He'd been missed.


End file.
